


True Love's Kiss

by kjack89



Series: Just Another Hogwarts AU [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Established Relationship, Hufflepuff!Grantaire, M/M, Magic, Ministry of Magic, Post-Hogwarts, Slytherin!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2055474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Grantaire's magic goes wrong, sometimes the most obvious solution is the best solution, especially when suggested by an unlikely source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Love's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> A nonny requested angst set in my Hogwarts 'verse, but I couldn't make it _too_ angsty, so this was the result. Set after they've left Hogwarts because I always found that more intriguing than Hogwarts itself.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Grantaire carefully prodded the canvas with his wand, watching approvingly as the background of the portrait, previously a gorgeous landscape until ruined by an errant charm that escaped the Department of Mysteries, slowly filled in with the proper foliage. He could see the little fox in the background heave a sigh of relief as the hedgerow it clearly lived in reappeared, and grinned.

He had been working for the Ministry of Magic’s Magical Artifacts Office doing magical portrait restoration for over a year now after getting his NEWTs and moving to London with Enjolras. He was still a little thrilled everytime he thought about that fact, that he was living with Enjolras in a tiny little flat off Diagon Alley and they were both doing their dream jobs, that life after Hogwarts had somehow turned out to be better than he could ever imagine (despite the fact that somehow, life _at_ Hogwarts had turned out better than he could ever imagine, and he had been so worried that by leaving it, he would somehow ruin everything).

Allowing himself a triumphant smile, he slowly straightened, running the tip of his wand one last time over the portrait for last-minute touch-ups, and was surprised by arms that suddenly snaked around his waist and a kiss being pressed to the side of his neck. “This better not be Bossuet playing a trick on me again,” Grantaire said warningly, turning slowly to grin at Enjolras, who raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do I even want to know?” Enjolras asked resignedly, though he was smiling as he leaned in to give Grantaire a proper kiss.

Grantaire kissed him back before answering him with a glib, “Nah, probably not.” He leaned back and looked Enjolras up and down, taking in his neatly pressed robes and the effort he had actually taken to tame his curls. “What are you doing here, and looking so smart?”

Enjolras smirked. “I was called in for a consult,” he said in his most snobby voice, as Grantaire sniggered. “A Wizengamot commission was established to discuss the impact of extending certain protections under the law to humanoid magical creatures, and I was asked for my opinion as one of the leading advocates of non-human and Muggle rights.”

“And what was your opinion?” Grantaire asked, trying not to sound as ridiculously proud of Enjolras as he was — despite his thoughts on the futility of Enjolras’s various causes, he was nonetheless so proud of what Enjolras had accomplished at and beyond Hogwarts.

Sighing, Enjolras drew a tired hand across his face. “It doesn’t go far enough, of course,” he said wearily. “But it’s better than no extension of rights at all, and I’m hoping that it could start the momentum that will lead to more sweeping changes.” He looked over Grantaire’s shoulder and nodded at the portrait. “How has your day been?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Pretty standard. I’ve got just one more painting left to look over before I’m done for the day, if you want to wait for me so we can go home together.”

“Mmm, I have a better idea,” Enjolras murmured, drawing Grantaire close and kissing him again. “I was thinking we could go to that fish and chip place across from St. Mungo’s, go for a walk in the park, do some passionate necking in front of some Muggles…”

“Dressed like this?” Grantaire asked, though he was grinning again. “You’ll get the police called on us. Again.”

Enjolras just kissed the tip of Grantaire’s nose, grinning when Grantaire scrunched his nose. “Worth it.” He squeezed Grantaire’s hands. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby?”

Grantaire grinned and watched as Enjolras left, his expression distant as he turned back to his final project of the day, an old portrait frame whose resident had gone missing. Grantaire wasn’t sure what he could do, since without at least knowing where the subject had gone, he couldn’t restore it, but Magical Artifacts had shunted it off to him after it had bounced around a few other offices, and Grantaire was meant to just give it a cursory once over before signing off on the fact that it was hopeless and sending it to some other hapless department (he had half a mind to send it to Bossuet, or over to Joly at St. Mungo’s, or, hell, off to Bahorel who was still at Hogwarts for his ninth year, since he refused to take his NEWTs and refused to leave).

Perhaps if he had been paying a little more attention, he would have noticed something amiss. Perhaps if his mind hadn’t been on thoughts of long walks with Enjolras and returning to their flat together (and what they would do together when they did), he might have watched a little closer as he passed his wand over the portrait.

But his mind was elsewhere and as he waved his wand vaguely over the empty scene, he instantly knew something was very,  _very_  wrong. Not just because his wand instantly felt heavy in his hand but because the next thing he knew, he felt…compressed. And was suddenly looking out at where he had just been standing.

It took him a long moment to realize where he was and what had happened, trying to wrap his mind around the sudden shift in perspective, but the only possible explanation, strange as it was, was that he was somehow  _in_  the portrait frame he had just been working on.

Look, he was a  _wizard_. He had gone to wizarding school and spent most of his time in a room that was only found when you walked past a certain stretch of wall three times. He had spent his formative years brewing potions and waving a wand and saying gibberish in hopes that shit happened, and that if it did happen, it would be the thing he _wanted_ to happen. This was honestly  _not_  the strangest thing that had ever happened to him, which explained his initial calm.

But then he realized — and this is when the panic truly set in — that he couldn’t move.

The ordinary subjects of wizard portraits could move around their own portraits and into neighboring ones, but not Grantaire. He was well and truly trapped, unable to change the expression on his face — which he was pretty sure was half-lovestruck (blame Enjolras for that) and half confused — and unable to, perhaps most importantly, get the attention of anyone to help him.

It was an incredibly odd feeling, knowing that his heart should be racing as he struggled to free himself, that his limbs should be flailing and his throat sore from shouting, but being frozen in place, none of these things happened. He wasn’t sure he was breathing or that his heart was beating at all, and in a small part of his mind, he was sure that Combeferre would be fascinated by what was happening here and the fact that Grantaire was, in the least Schrödinger sense, simultaneously alive and yet not, but mostly Grantaire just wanted the joke to be over and for himself to be free.

Instead, he was forced to wait for Enjolras to come looking for him, for Enjolras to see him frozen in the portrait, for Enjolras to shout at him — and God, that hurt the worst, that Grantaire couldn’t talk back to him, couldn’t reassure him, couldn’t beg for him to help or reassure him that, absurdly, he wasn’t hurt at all — and for Enjolras finally, resignedly, after the other Magical Artifacts workers were unable to help him, to take the Grantaire home with him, their plans abandoned as Enjolras kept up a low litany of promises to free Grantaire from the portrait.

And worst of all, Grantaire had to listen to Enjolras cry himself to sleep that night from where he was propped on their dresser.

* * *

 

The days stretched into weeks and turned into months, and Grantaire remained trapped in the portrait. All of their friends came by in an attempt to fix him. Joly brought him with him to St. Mungo’s, but even the fully qualified Healers there didn’t know what to make of it. Bossuet came by on his lunch break to talk to Grantaire in hopes he might just talk back. Jehan brought him back to Hogwarts (since Jehan had been interning under Professor Longbottom in hopes of becoming Herbology professor when he finally retired), and he and Bahorel both spent late nights in the library poring over texts in the Restricted Section in hopes of finding a cure. Combeferre spent countless hours muttering long-winded spells he was trying to translate from ancient runes, though to no avail, and Courfeyrac somehow wound up as a fixture at Enjolras and Grantaire’s apartment, mostly just a quiet, comforting presence for when Enjolras needed an actual person to talk to, instead of just Grantaire’s portrait.

Because Enjolras did spend a large amount of time talking to Grantaire’s portrait, probably more than was acceptable, even in these circumstances.

Or at least, he did at first.

When he came home at night, he used to tell Grantaire all about his day, as he out of sheer force of habit fixed dinner for the both of them, never seeming to notice or care that the second portion always went cold. He used to work out his latest speech or debate in front of Grantaire's portrait, making his own comments since Grantaire could not supply his usual sarcasm and snark. But then, as the days stretched on, Enjolras too seemed to become stretched and strained, his words to Grantaire sad and defeated as he told him how much he missed him and how much he wished Grantaire were back.

And then, absolutely worst of all, he stopped talking to Grantaire all together.

Grantaire was forced to watch the man he love go about his days without giving Grantaire a second thought, and even if the rational part of him knew that it was because it simply hurt too much for Enjolras to carry on the way he had been, the irrational part assumed that Enjolras had so easily forgotten him, so easily moved on.

(He didn’t get to hear Enjolras crying at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s, or Enjolras getting told off at work because he couldn’t concentrate because all he could think about was Grantaire, and he didn't get to see the hours Enjolras spent with scrolls that were older than Hogwarts itself, searching for some cure, any cure, that might bring Grantaire back to him.)

So he somehow went into a sort of stasis himself, aware but not fully aware of what was happening around him, a half-sleep as his hope dwindled and time stretched on.

At least, until Feuilly came back.

Feuilly had been on an incredible adventure around the world, traveling to a number of different wizarding schools in order to learn about different methods of educating Muggleborns as opposed to their pure- or half-blood brethren (a topic near and dear to his heart, for obvious reasons). The opportunity was so important and impressive that none had even thought of calling him back from his trip. He couldn’t do anything for Grantaire, after all.

Couldn’t do anything but bring common sense to the mix, that is.

Feuilly took one look at Grantaire, trapped still in the portrait, unable to move as always, and asked Enjolras mildly, “Did you try kissing him?”

He had meant it as a joke, really, but Enjolras stared at him, taking his words entirely seriously. “Kissing him?” he repeated. “Why would I try to kiss him?”

“Well, you know, in all the old stories, it was always true love’s kiss that solved everything,” Feuilly said, surprised that Enjolras seemed unaware of that. “You know, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast—”

“Grantaire is not a beast,” Enjolras interrupted hotly, his eyes flashing, not recognizing the name of a popular film and story.

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “And I never said he was,” he said, with a patience borne of many years dealing with those among his friends who had no familiarity with Muggle things. “But still. In the old stories, in the fairytales, it was always true love’s kiss that did it. So…did you try that? Just to see?”

Enjolras looked at him skeptically, but shrugged. They had literally tried everything else, so why not?

Without preamble, he leaned in and kissed the portrait of Grantaire.

Instantly, Grantaire could feel himself breathe again, could feel himself grow large and move and become  _alive_ , and he appeared back to his normal self next to Enjolras, who gaped at him, and Feuilly, who looked equal parts shocked and smug. “Holy fuck,” Enjolras gasped, staring at Grantaire. “Feuilly, you’re a genius.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Feuilly muttered, cutting himself off when Enjolras and Grantaire launched at each other, making up for the months they had been separated by canvas. “Right, so I’ll just take my status as genius and go then, shall I?”

Neither answered him, and he left, looking slightly miffed, but mostly glad that things had worked out.

Meanwhile, both Enjolras and Grantaire seemed to want to sit in each other’s lap, and it resulted in a tangle of limbs that was uncomfortable but neither really cared about, glad to be finally touching and holding each other the way they hadn’t in so long. “I was so lost,” Enjolras whispered, pulling Grantaire even closer, as if he might never let him go, “so lost without you.”

“I know,” Grantaire whispered, running his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, marveling at the feeling of it slipping through his fingers, marveling at feeling anything at all when he hadn’t in so long. “So was I, without you, but you found me. You brought me back.”

Enjolras laughed, though there was no humor in it, the laugh strained and broken after so many months alone. “Really it was Feuilly who brought you back.”

Grantaire laughed as well, a hysterical edge to it, and he told Enjolras through his laughter, “Just another reason for the ridiculous crush you still have on him, I suppose. I don’t know  _what_  it is with you and Hufflepuff men, but—”

Whatever nonsense he was about to say was cut off by Enjolras kissing him, a deep, heady, needy kiss, his hand cupping Grantaire’s cheek possessively as if worried he would try to pull away. “I love you,” he said finally, when they broke apart, though neither moved more than an inch from the other.

“And I love you,” Grantaire said, smiling, even if his smile was a little sad and a little crooked. “True love’s kiss doesn’t lie, I suppose.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “Will you tell me the stories?” he asked abruptly. “The ones about true love’s kiss?”

“Muggle fairytales?” Grantaire asked, surprised. “Why would you want to hear those?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Because they brought you back to me. And so there might be some truth to them.”

For a brief moment, Grantaire considered teasing Enjolras the way he normally would when, thanks to being a half-blood, he knew more about something relating to Muggles than Enjolras, but they had been through too much for too long for him to do that immediately. So instead, he kissed Enjolras again and told him, “Ok.”

And that was how they spent their first night back together, curled around each other, Enjolras’s head resting against Grantaire’s chest as Grantaire whispered what he could remember of the Muggle fairytales he had heard long ago (when in doubt, he just substituted Disney plots, but Enjolras didn’t need to know. Besides, in the end, it was the same — true love’s kiss conquered all).


End file.
